The chalk squeaks. I'm suffocating. The universe suddenly closer together on this single sign placed on the murky surface of the table. The crumbly stick of chalk and lose a tiny bit of substance, Again, on the vertical surface which, itself, loses a little area. He stayed in my pocket, spring at times my hand rolls fingertips as I speak, without my being any need to think about it, and then suddenly, mechanically, because my voice at a time text, gives a proper name, which returns the world to a single individual, complex processes by reference (do we imagine the complexity of the method that returns, in the language, to one individual?), while mechanism well anchored, although appropriate, and the line where there is no question to derogate, my not make me walk across the room from side to side, draw, What happens in a straight line between the location of the space where I said, and the murky surface of the table, my hand grabbed the piece of chalk, by force, become lukewarm, and it traces some signs that make him lose a bit of new material.
The same operation, mechanics, similarly to reiterate, every time my voice will deliver a new concept, or a statement whose ramifications are suitable for this operation.
At that time, I am almost alone, his face turned against the table. I do not remember as a child of terror and pride that I felt at that time, thought is launched in the speed of deployment and the memories are not appropriate, it is clear, however, that all these memories are there, between me and the murky surface, and I'm going through, every time I approach a very complex area of turbulence past. I am almost alone in a very old world. My hand is raised as high as he is able to avoid the other signs already registered, interconnected with arrows and paths multiple possible paths of the mind in ideas, and signs it then traces meet the expectations silent or indifferent to their eyes fixed on my hand, so that while she the track during the tiny time he needs to complete to register The Plurality of Worlds or supervenience meanwhile narrow interval of silence in the sustained tension of the lyrics, I cross this area only memories, without even time to think about them.
Or maybe it's not more than an image, so fleeting that it is possible (only one child against the blackboard and immmensément above, which seeks to despair the sequences of letters required, with each others who respond to the insistence of the adult, and enter the word that does not give my memory, I try, the chains do not promise any dynamics of handwriting, and I feel my eyes fill with tears, as I wipe a hand full of chalk dust) against the representation of which it is not possible to fight, it passes far before running dry of ideas does not resume his regular.
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